Wyshea Shadows

by Geoffrey Saign

  He cocked his head at her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  She wavered, but if she revealed the truth, she might lose one of her closest friends, one of her few. “Of course.” She gave a weak smile. “Until tonight, baethe.”

  “Tonight.”

  Bosho drifted away with Basir, his strong frame moving gracefully. Farther in among the trees, Yameen jumped up and down, smiling and waving both arms at her.

  Famere waved back. She watched Bosho clasp hands with Yameen and melt away into the forest. It was always like this, seeing friends from afar. Sometimes her loneliness was unbearable.

  In moments, Goflin stepped out from behind a nearby massive norre and walked toward her, his stride smooth as if he floated over the ground. His face was composed, his eyes shining. Gir walked beside him.

  Shir and Lor sat, while Gir trotted over to sit near them. Lor bent over to lick the wolf’s head.

  Famere’s gaze strayed to Goflin’s arms and chest, strong but sinewy. Happy to see him, she debated telling him everything. For some reason, she didn’t care how much of her conversation with Bosho he had overheard. She wanted to confide in him, to tell her secrets to someone who cared about her. But it seemed too much to ask, even of him. If only Ison were here.

  He lifted an arm to clasp hers, but she ignored it and stepped forward, sliding her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. Her throat choked on words bubbling up, which she kept to herself. The scent of his skin and his hair against her cheek comforted her. She couldn’t let go until his arms loosened around her.

  “After every battle you have a new scar, Fam.” He pulled back and gently traced one on her arm.

  “None as big as the raacor’s.” Self-conscious, she fingered the scar across her upper chest. What if Ison didn’t find her attractive anymore?

  Goflin smiled. “Yes, few warriors can match that.” When she didn’t reply, he became serious. “I agree with Bosho. We’ve all had enough of the war and the killing.” He took one of her hands in his. “Aren’t you tired of fighting, Fam?”

  She turned aside. “We have no choice.”

  “If we win tonight, and offer our enemies peace, they’ll accept it.” He moved in front of her again. “You could go on an adventure then, go chat with the staves.” His eyes lit up.

  “Those were childish dreams.” She looked down.

  “Not if we win this battle.” He drew closer. “I’ll be thinking about you tonight, Fam.”

  His skin glistened and it distracted her for a few moments. “I’ll worry about you, Gof. You don’t have shadows to protect you.”

  “It’s just an easy run through a few thousand clumsy slayers.” He stroked the neck of his sitting wolf. “Besides, I have Gir and Huro to watch over me. You’re the one taking a risk tonight.”

  “If you don’t return from the battlefield, I’ll look for you.” She gazed at him steadily, realizing she meant it. With no way to find Ison, she would never survive losing Goflin too.

  Long ago she had asked Huro to watch over him, and to have him direct the scouts. Goflin was one of their best trackers, but she had done it to keep him out of the battles. However, tonight all warriors would have to fight.

  “And if you don’t return, I’ll find you, Fam.”

  His words brought sadness to her that she didn’t expect and she was at a loss for words.

  He smiled. “So I guess both of us have to come back.” When she looked away, he squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” she murmured.

  “You can trust me.”

  “I do.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “When we’ve destroyed our enemies, things will change.”

  “There’s more to life than revenge, Fam.”

  “They killed Darkas and want to kill all of us. They deserve to die!” She heard the vehemence in her voice, regretting it. As guide she was expected to remain poised.

  He grasped both her hands. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Fam? Is it the pain?”

  She shook her head, staring at his hands, her eyes blurring. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “Then what?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “You don’t have to go through things alone.”

  She twisted away. “I have to get ready.”

  “All right, Fam.” He stepped back, sounding disappointed. “See you on the hill, then.”

  “Yes.”

  He left, and she bit her lip. In moments, she whirled and took a step forward to call him back, wanting to tell him what she was hiding. Instead, she watched him fade away into the woods with his wolf.

  As she stood there, stone tester burned hot on her chest. Pain like fire speared her left hand, sweeping along her arm to her shoulder and neck, then through the rest of her body. She gasped, and Shir and Lor rose to move closer to her. She bent over and grasped their forelegs.

  Wyshea suns hadn’t found a cure for this frequent pain that began after Darkas’ death. In the last few months it had tortured her longer and more intensely with each occurrence. She had learned to hide it around others, and she had told no one of her recent daytime nightmares, which made her question her sanity.

  Stumbling to a norre tree, she licked the film of sparkling sap running down its bark, its sweet flavor melting over her tongue. Dizzy, her body took in the sap’s rich banquet of energy, giving her some relief from the pain. But she didn’t dare take more. Too much would drive anyone mad, and she had to defeat all wyshea enemies before she lost her ability to reason.

  She slid to the ground, her back against the soft bark. Shir and Lor settled beside her. Her musings drifted to Mereeth; she missed her mother. Eight months ago, Mereeth had a vision of Famere leaving their people. Thus, her mother dreaded waiting for her daughter’s death in battle and had visited her only a few times.

  Feeling helpless as her limbs burned, Famere gripped her shadows’ fur. “Ison,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

  Wild scenes of staves, slayers, and wyshea filled her mind, all moving through a forest brilliant with sunlight. Squeezing her eyes shut, she wondered how much longer she would have a clear mind. Hopefully, at least through tonight’s battle.

  12

  Ison

  In the evening, shortly before battle, Famere stood atop the hill with Shir and Lor, looking at the valley below. Her shoulders hunched as she tried to think of any advantage they could use against the enemy.

  Brown rain fell from a sky blanketed in dark clouds, darkening her mood. Even the brethren and birds seemed to be in hiding, avoiding the sickly colored rain—another mystery for which no one had any answers. She ignored it, and learned from Goflin’s scouts that the four armies continued their march toward the valley in front of her. All four were larger than expected.

  Even though still far away to the south, the main slayer army was noisy, but the melder army to the east and the staven horde to the west moved too quietly to detect from a distance, and had no fires. The Coyote’s Northerners hung back, cautious of any trap, but remained close enough to attack.

  Famere bit her lip. This was the closest large armies had ever come to mrilwood since the night her father died, and the largest gathering of their enemies against them. She had to steel herself inside against conceding defeat. Her people counted on her. As the wyshea guide, she couldn’t fail them.

  Bosho’s and Goflin’s presence steadied her, but she clutched the fur of her shadows to give herself courage.

  Fighters passed small woven bowls of sweet roots, heartfruit, brown nuts, and water, but Famere ate little, wanting to be light for battle. Before any fighting, her nervous stomach couldn’t handle much food.

  One of the fighters curled his thrip around a branch and used it to climb high into a tree. Soon he signaled Famere. She looked west, where a handful of scouts dragged two wild-eyed slayers through the woods. Vines bound the slayers’ ankles. Famere touch
ed the life-pouch at her waist, then her hand sped to grayblade.

  Laflel and Goflin conferred with the scouts, and then pulled the slayers on their knees in front of her, tossing the slayers’ weapons at her feet.

  The slayers trembled when Shir and Lor growled, glancing from the shadows to her.

  Famere ignored them and squatted near their weapons. Daggers, long blades, a bow, an atlatl, and quivers with darts and arrows.

  The atlatl, a thin wooden stick less than two feet long, had a handle on one end, and on the other a small dull wooden hook to hold the end of the notched four-foot darts. Feathered at the notched end, the darts had triangular pieces of sahr-metal at their tips. Famere’s vision blurred as she remembered Darkas’ death for the thousandth time.

  “They were caught spying near our border.” Goflin remained calm, betraying no emotion.

  Laflel’s eyes glinted, but Huro barely shrugged, his fingers tucked into his belt.

  Bosho stood impassively to the side.

  Famere glanced up at him, wondering if he thought she was acting out of revenge again. There must be no mercy, my baethe. She rose and walked behind the slayers.

  Thrip cuts marred the back of the slayers’ brown tunics. The larger slayer had ebony skin, the other pale. Like all slayers, these two were taller than any wyshea. Slayer size never daunted Famere, but she respected their strength.

  Tossing back her hair, she drew grayblade, frustrated that even with the slayers’ poor eyesight—they were virtually blind at night—their dull hearing, their coarse voices, and their clumsy movements in the woods, they still might defeat her people. She already knew the reason why; their endless numbers. For each slayer they killed, ten replacements showed up in the next assault against them.

  Leaning forward, placing his hands flat in the grass, the ebony slayer hung his head, his red hair a tangled mess. He said quietly, “Please. I have a wife and child.”

  His arms and back were thick, but his begging made him sound weak to Famere. She placed her foot against his butt and shoved him to his stomach. “And your people have killed many of our fathers, including mine.”

  She used her foot to push the other slayer down too. “Tell us about the plans for the attack.”

  The ebony male had his nose pressed into the grass. His face slid sideways. “They’ll come at you in the morning from three directions. South, east, and west.”

  “We already know that,” she scoffed. “Anything else?”

  “They plan to crush you completely,” said the pale slayer. “They’re already talking about dividing up your land.”

  His words panicked her. She might not be able to stop them. “Fangors.” Remaining standing, she straddled the ebony slayer’s body. With both hands she raised her blade vertically above his back.

  The slayer lifted his cheek off the ground to watch her, and then lowered his head and closed his eyes. Trembling, the other slayer hid his face.

  Famere again thought of Darkas dying, and her mother, Toash, and Song at risk. Her anger quickly grew to rage. Her eyes blurred. She held the blade poised for a few moments, wishing she could kill all slayers with this one strike. Abruptly, she was aware of everyone staring at her, and she lowered and sheathed her dagger.

  Her hand trembled and she tried to hide it by grasping her thrip. Unwinding it, she stepped to the side and snapped it hard, striking the back of the large slayer. The whip sliced through the clothing, leaving a thin cut that wept blood. The slayer didn’t flinch or cry out. She was impressed.

  Flicking her thrip again, she marked the other slayer in the same manner, but he groaned. After winding her thrip, she used grayblade to cut the vines binding their ankles.

  She walked in front of them, her tone harsh. “Tell your leaders I’ve spared your lives, but we’ll kill everyone who fights us tomorrow. Take your weapons and go.”

  Rising awkwardly, the slayers cautiously gathered their weapons, while eyeing the shadows.

  The ebony slayer boldly looked at her and gave a respectful bow. “I won’t forget this.”

  Stumbling, the two ran south.

  Famere watched them leave, wondering if slayers lived by a code of life-debt too. That idea unsettled her.

  Bosho looked at her questioningly, but she said, “They’ll spread fear among their friends, along with the lie about fighting tomorrow. I wanted to kill them and tonight we will.”

  “Famere.”

  She whirled and gaped. Shock and excitement swept through her.

  Ison stood a few paces away, wearing gray robes. His lanky frame had filled out and his high cheekbones and narrow chin were sculptured. Pulled back in a tied knot, his long green hair trailed down his back.

  Famere couldn’t speak or move for a moment. “Blessings, Beloved,” she murmured. “We’re saved.”

  Opening her arms wide, she strode to Ison as he walked toward her. They held each other tightly. Her heart beat hard as she smelled his oiled skin and sensed his own urgency to hold her. Her thoughts churned, feeling astonishment over their reunion and pain over their long separation. She held back a sob and became teary-eyed. She didn’t want to let him go. All her prayers to Beloved had been answered, and in that moment she knew everything would be all right in her life again. “Oh, Ison.”

  “I’ve missed you, Fam.”

  “I knew you would return,” she whispered. “I’ve thought of you every day you were gone.”

  “And I you, my love.” He kissed her forehead, his hands slipping to her waist, and then to her wrists.

  Something in his tone suggested distance from her. After such a long absence, it somehow didn’t surprise her. Remaining pressed against his body, she studied his face, words rushing out of her. “Where have you been? I never gave up on us. I wanted to look for you, but I didn’t have any idea how to find you.”

  “It wouldn’t have been any use, Fam. I was near the northern mountains, in the Order of Mageen’s fortress. You couldn’t have freed me even if you had known.”

  “I’m sorry, my love.”

  He clasped her hands. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “How did you get here?” Harken had done the same thing, emerging out of the air, when he had kidnapped Ison.

  He spoke softly. “Mageen travel through the sacred sahr weave that fills the air. It’s what allows thrips to float and wyshea daggers to fly straight. The weave fills the air across the Pangaea continent.”

  It made sense to her. Beloved’s energy truly was everywhere. But she was surprised the sahr weave was invisible to wyshea. She stared into Ison’s eyes, wishing they could go somewhere to talk, and that a battle wasn’t coming.

  “Pangaea continent?” asked Goflin.

  Ison let go of her hands and smirked. “All the land far beyond our borders, which is surrounded by the Great Blue Water. It’s probably too much for you to understand, Goflin.”

  Goflin didn’t react, his features calm.

  Famere wondered why Ison still held a grudge against Goflin. It bothered her. “Are you all right?”

  Ison’s eyes glinted. “The Order has made me more powerful than ever. I’m Harken’s prize student. He trusts me and expects me to help him hold the Order together.”

  “Leave them and join us, Ison.” She reached for his hands again, clutching them tightly, wanting to hold him and kiss him.

  He hesitated. “It’s not that simple, Fam.”

  His response surprised her. “Mageen hid the army that killed Darkas, and Harken kidnapped you. Why are you staying with them?”

  “I have no choice.” He grimaced. “No mageen in the Order helped the slayers on the night Darkas died.”

  She searched his face, but saw honesty. “I don’t believe it. How can you be positive?”

  “I am. Harken would never allow it.” He tilted his head. “You’re quite a famous warrior, Fam.” His gaze strayed down to her belt and he stiffened. “You have grayblade.”

  His words puzzled her. “I’m She of Two Shadows an
d the wyshea guide.”

  His eyes narrowed, his words terse. “How did our people allow a sun to become their guide?”

  Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t respond. However, when she considered that he had been gone for nine months, his reactions made sense. It had to be why he was acting distant too. “It must feel strange, Ison, but Darkas died and you were gone.”

  “Why not Toash or even Bosho?” Ison flicked a glance at Bosho, who nodded slightly.

  “The changes were for the better, baethe.” Goflin stepped closer, his tone friendly and not challenging. “The shadows chose our guide, as they did in our people’s past.”

  “I was chosen as the guide-in-training.” Ison glared at Goflin.

  Shir and Lor stepped closer to Famere and gave eerie rumbles, bristling as if facing an enemy. Except for Goflin and Bosho, everyone slid their hands to their weapons.

  For the first time since bonding to Shir and Lor, Famere didn’t understand the shadows’ behavior. Why would they react to Ison like this? She understood how he could be disappointed and frustrated. Still, she remembered how he had burned two slayers to ash. Perhaps the shadows were reacting to that memory.

  She turned to the others and said calmly, ‘No fighting.” Gently, she stroked the shoulders of the two shadows for a few moments until they quieted.

  Facing Ison again, she murmured, “We’re your friends, Ison. And I love you.”

  His expression relaxed, his words matter-of-fact. “Don’t worry. Mageen are forbidden to use sahr to harm others.”

  “I remember what Harken said.” Famere touched his arm. “I’m sorry he took you.”

  “I’m not.”

  She stared at him in confusion. “But he stole you from us, from being guide, from me.”

  “He’s also given me something priceless.” He stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back while looking at Shir and Lor. “Your enemies are afraid of you and your shadow guard. They call your shadows death mounts.” He glanced at her. “And you’re called the wyshea butcher.”